


I Can Show You The World (DRACO MALFOY)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Draco Malfoy - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Other, Post Wizarding War, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word count: 965</p><p>Requested: Yes</p><p>Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, depression, scars, isolation</p><p>yesssssss angsty after war draco malfoy yesss</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can Show You the World (DRACO MALFOY)

His breath curled in front of him, spiraling white into the air as he looked at the Muggle cafe. Was Draco Malfoy really going to walk in here? Order a cuppa?

Or was he going to turn around and go home?

When another Muggle bumped into his back, nearly sending him sprawling across the pavement, Draco decided he needed the tea and ducked into the warm, homely shop. He was aging well, but he knew that he looked worn and frayed around the edges.

Nearly a decade in Azkaban would make the hardest of men crumble in the middle.

He sat at a table and absentmindedly rubbed his arm, over the scar that was once the Mark, and waited for a worker to come take his order. He didn’t have to wait long because you sauntered over to him, notepad in hand, grin on your face.

“Hello,” You said, readying yourself to write, “What can I get you today, sir?” Draco tried to avoid looking at you, brushing some dark brown hair out of his eyes.

“A cup of tea, please,” You smiled at him and wrote down his order.

“Is that all for you?” And he nodded, but your eyes caught on his blond roots, the dye job that someone had given him bad and fading. “You might want to re dye your hair,” And fear splintered through Draco’s very core because, well, maybe you weren’t a Muggle. “I have a cousin at the hair shop down the street, I could get you a discount.”  
  
His lips barely turn up at the corners, “I do it at home, actually. My…” The word friend hung off of his tongue because he wasn’t sure if he could call Potter a friend, not yet, “Coworker buys the dye and his wife does it in her spare time.”  
  
You perk up, nodding and bouncing on your feet.

“Okay! I’ll be right back with your tea, but in the meantime, sit tight.” Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you flitted away, laughing with a coworker. He smiled and played with his napkin, quickly rolling up the midnight black dress shirt before you came back with his tea that was steaming. “That’s an ugly scar,” You said, sucking your teeth before sitting, “I have a break, do you mind if I join you?”

“Should I?” Draco mused, rubbing his scar again. One finger, up and down the rugged surface with his eyes still on yours. “I don’t want you to get sacked.” But you only shrugged and looked over your shoulder.

“I’m on break, and you seem interesting enough. There’s a story behind the scar, right? You don’t get something like that without a story.” His wand was heavy in his pocket and he pushed his hair away from his eyes before chuckling darkly, looking toward the table.

“I suppose there’s a story. But that’s for another time.” And he didn’t want to tell you because you were being nice to him, sweet, and Draco hadn’t felt kindness in such a long time. The dementors, though they were removed from Azkaban halfway through his sentence, left his body a cold cavern that depression found a home in. He smiled at you, but it was forced and tight. “Not for any time, really.” And you laid your hand overtop of his and leaned forward, stopping his breath in his throat.

“Sir,”  
  
“Draco,” He informed you.

“Draco,” You tried the foreign name on your tongue, “You don’t have to be ashamed of your past.” And more fear broke through Draco because he pulled away, leaning back cooly and crossing his arms. He wondered if you did know, somehow, but that thought was squashed yet again when you sighed and your eyes softened, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a rough spot. I’m just saying that you are more than your scars, you know? I have my own and they don’t make you who you are; they tell who you are.” Draco’s eyes met yours for a split second before he felt like crying.

But Draco never cried, not after his father taught him better with cane-beatings and spells that never left marks.

“Thank you,” He finally took another drink of his tea before leaning his arms on the table once more, “I didn’t know I needed to hear that until now.” You grinned at him, nodding eagerly.

“Of course, I have that effect on people. I just keep opening my big mouth until I saw something that they like.” He laughed, a real genuine laugh that you saw wrinkled his eyes in a way that reduced his age, relaxed his body. He took another drink, appreciating how it tasted. He hadn’t had tea made so well, nor a conversation, in a long time.

“I’m glad that you decided to open your mouth, then,” He spoke, watching your eyes light up. His stomach swooped, finally losing the weight he had taken in when his father was killed in riots and raids two years into his incarceration. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your neck and Draco finished his tea with a foreign feeling of self satisfaction. “This tea is wonderful.”  
  
“Thank you,” You graciously took the credit, “You’ll just have to come back tomorrow and get another.” He laid down the Muggle money that Hermione helped him learn, bless her soul, and tapped the table with a knukcle as he stood.

“That I will.”  
  
“I can show you a new world, Draco,” You looked pointedly at his scar, “One that’s not filled with fear and pain and anger.” He could only stare after you as you made your way back to the kitchen to grab somebody else’s order.


	2. The Lonely Moments Just Get Lonelier (DRACO MALFOY)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by anonymous: i lost the request but it was just basically fluff
> 
> requested by anonymous: i also lost this request but it was for a part two to my other malfoy imagine
> 
> word count: 975
> 
> warnings: warnings: mentions of child abuse, depression, scars, isolation

Draco was sitting rigidly on your couch, aware of the cat purring next to him and the wand that was heavy in his pocket. He could take it out, hex you, blow the whole house up and at one time, many years prior he would have liked to do it.

But not after the war.

Not after Azkaban.

Draco jumped when you entered the room with a clattering tea tray, waking the cat who scurried off. “Sorry, it’s my Mum’s. She makes me use it when I have company. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t have video cameras somewhere in here.”

Video cameras. A muggle technology Draco wasn’t sure he understood. They were like a Wizard’s camera- but with sound and much longer movement. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, thanking your for the tea as you passed it to him.

“This is wonderful,” Was he lying or making conversation?

Aren’t they the same thing?

He dared to look at you, grinning behind your cup. “A compliment,” You nodded, “From Draco Malfoy. Nice.” He felt his lips tug up, just barely, for a smile.

It was soon gone, however, when he heard the familiar pop outside of your home. You brushed it off as a car backfiring but Draco could practically see Potter walking up your drive, looking for him because there was no plausible reason that the Trace could have led him to your neighborhood.

“There’s someone at your door,” Draco said, bringing the teacup to his lips once more. He glanced at you under hooded eyes just as Potter knocked and your eyebrows climbed your face.

“You must be bloody magic, or something,” An offhanded comment, but heart began beating faster and if he didn’t still have the Death Eater Trace, he would have Apparated right out of your living room. Instead he set down his cup and folded his hands in his laps as he listened to you get sweet talked by his Parole Officer. Potter stepped into the room and Draco stood to greet him with a firm handshake.

“Harry,” He nodded briskly and Potter smiled.

“Draco,” He said smoothly, “Fancy seeing you here.” Indeed, but he knew that it wasn’t a coincidence, “I saw your car out front, thought I’d drop in.” Draco was terse, but he knew that Potter was just doing his job, just making sure that Malfoy stood true to his word.

“Yes,” You nodded, crossing your arms. You stood in the doorway behind Potter, “If I may be so rude, I am going to ask you to leave. I merely invited you in to seem polite, but you’re overstepping your boundaries.” The acid in your tone made Draco smirk, reminding him of days when he was younger and his joints didn’t ache, when he and Potter weren’t friends but opposites.

Potter nodded, apologizing before looking back at you. “I meant no harm,” And then he strutted out the door, which you kicked shut after him.

“I can’t stand Potter,” You snarled, and then Draco locked eyes with you, “Met him at a family event; he’s married to a distant cousin of mine. Large family, they are. All with the same bright red hair. One of their eldest, Fred, died nearly ten years ago. His twin hasn’t been the same since.” Like you were telling a bedtime story you moved back to the couch while Draco’s stomach lurched and the room spun around him.

“Yes,” He mumbled, “I knew Fred and George. Potter, too. I went to school with them.” Like a nightmare, you looked up at him.

“You went to public school? I always thought you were the prat who went to boarding school but straightened up into a nice lad once you left.” He moved like a zombie to sit next to you, corners of his lips barely twitching.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not really who you think I am.” And the crushing weight of his statement collapsed his lungs and filled his eyes; Draco lurched over so swiftly you thought he was hurt but then you saw the tears rolling down his cheeks, saw the shaking of his shoulders and heard his sobs. Draco flinched when you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, bringing his body with you as you nestled into your couch. He felt like a child, not a grown man, but he let it happen because it felt so good to be held intimately, to cry like he hadn’t in nearly twenty years. You held him, felt as he clutched your shirt in shaking fists.

“I don’t care,” You whispered, kissing the side of her forehead, “I don’t care, okay? I’ll eventually get to know you, Draco. Who cares if you went to school with my cousins? I don’t. I want this to work, Draco. I want to somehow make you work better.” Draco chuckled bitterly, still crying, still holding onto your shirt.

“I won’t ever work better. Won’t ever work better again. I won’t work like I used to.” He admitted, like a weight off of his lungs. Draco hadn’t ever said that out loud, hadn’t uttered those words and made it real, “They call it PTSD,” He continued, “They call it PTSD and I can’t get away from it. I need to get away from it.” You tightened your arms around him and cradled him closer, as if it was possible.

“I don’t care what they call it,” You said, “Okay? I want you to know that I’m going to be here for you, no matter what you may have gone through. And you don’t have to tell me what happened, but I need you to trust me.” Draco nodded.

“Okay,” He gasped, “I trust you, I trust you.”

And Draco hadn’t trusted anyone since he had left Azkaban, hadn’t trusted anyone before that. But he trusted you.


End file.
